


and the wounds don't fade because you tell them they're not real

by Bus_Kids_Burgade (Inthemorninglight)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: PLEASE STOP, PTSD Jemma, Women Protecting Women, mentions of the squicky cannon violence, post 4x15, why do they keep hurting my daughter jemma simmons?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 00:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10204781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inthemorninglight/pseuds/Bus_Kids_Burgade
Summary: “It’s okay,” Daisy says, quiet but firm. “It’s okay if you can’t be around him for a while. It’s okay.”~Jemma struggles with the aftermath of the LMD attack.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how exactly to tag this but there is mentions of a situation that resembles domestic violence, and although one of the involved parties turned out to be a robot, this focuses on the ptsd related to being hurt by a romantic partner. Be mindful of triggers.

Finding Fitz is not the hard part. Getting him back is not even the hard part. All it takes is a little kidnapping, a smidgen of grand theft auto, and a thousand miles of frustrating conversations before the boy they know is blinking foggily through the layers of the framework at them once more. 

 

It turns out the hard part is going to be everything that comes after.

 

They’re in a van because of course they are. Daisy even has a hula girl on the dash. With the back seat folded down, there’s just enough room for all three of them to sleep, all crammed together with barely space to breathe. Daisy’s almost asleep, squashed up against the side of the van with her arm flung over Jemma’s middle because there’s nowhere else for it to go, so she notices when Jemma pulls herself free of the heap. There’s the sound of the car door and Fitz stirs and mumbles something incoherent as the whole rickety vehicle sways when it slams. 

 

Daisy takes advantage of the sudden space to stretch her stiffening muscles and rolls to stare at the ceiling, forcing herself to stay awake until she knows Jemma is safely back inside. But when she’s counted a hundred and eighty seconds and Jemma’s still not back a coil of anxiety tightens in her stomach.

 

She hasn’t gone far though. Daisy almost falls on top of her when she pushes open the passenger door. She’s curled up against the front wheel, and even though she does a hasty scrub job as Daisy clambers gracelessly from the cab, the tear tracks stand out pretty clearly on her grimy cheeks. 

 

Daisy drops to her knees next to Jemma, feeling the bite of gravel through the holes in her jeans and not particularly caring. Jemma tries for a minute to school her features into a passive mask, face turned up to the star-strewn sky, but the effort collapses almost at once. She gives a soundless gasp and crumples inward and Daisy catches her up, holding on tight. 

 

For a long time, longer than they should, they sit tangled up together, rocking a little, Daisy’s fingers curling in Jemma’s ponytail. Hot tears prick her own eyes and she’s not sure why she’s crying really, except at everything, at the whole fucked-up situation. 

 

But at some point they have to stop crying. Because it’s not over yet. They still have so, so far to go, aren’t close enough to the end to let all the new wounds start stinging. So she murmurs, “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” against Jemma’s hair and it seems to work, seems to stop up some of the waterworks. 

 

Jemma pulls away, straightens up. And Daisy sees the look on her face and it’s worse than the tears. 

 

“It’s not,” she whispers, hugging herself, holding the broken pieces together like Daisy’s seen her do how many times before, but never looking quite so defeated. “It’s not going to be okay this time.”

 

“Jemma - “ Daisy starts, but Jemma shakes her head fiercely. 

 

“I can barely look at him,” she whispers, and the words seem to have a bitter taste in her mouth. She blinks and tries to suck in a deep breath, staring up at the heavens. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? It wasn’t him. I knew it wasn’t him. For ten years seeing his face has always been a comfort and now - this one thing -” 

 

She presses her hands over her face and Daisy’s heart breaks a little more. 

 

“What happened?” she asks. 

 

She’s afraid to hear, but she’s starting to think it was more than what she knows about, a keen dread growing in her stomach. Daisy shifts to lean against the van too, twining her arm around Jemma’s waist (slowly, to give her the opportunity to pull away, but she settles against Daisy instead). 

 

“What happened before… all the stabbing?” 

 

Jemma takes so long to answer Daisy thinks she isn’t going to. She listens to her hitching breaths until they finally work their way up to words.

 

“I asked it not to hurt me and it promised it wouldn’t. And then… then it did.” Daisy tightens her hold, pulling Jemma closer, and as if now that the dam has broken, the words keep pouring out, thick and fast. “It manipulated me in a way only Fitz would know how to do. It  _ felt _ just like him. 

 

“It stabbed me, hit me, drugged me, and then it kissed me. Just like he would kiss me. It told me it loved me. It said it was trying to protect me - like he - he - And now - now every time he looks at me all I think of - everytime he touches me - I thought it was him, it was just like him - “ 

 

She’s out of breath, gasping. Daisy feels her own throat tightening painfully, her own stomach rolling. 

 

“I can’t - I can’t - I can’t -” then Jemma is fighting her way free, dragging herself away from Daisy as she retches, but there’s hardly anything in her to bring up. 

 

Daisy drops her head against the side of the van, granting her space because that’s all she can give. 

 

“It’s okay,” she says, quiet but firm. “It’s okay if you can’t be around him for a while. It’s okay.” 

“But it wasn’t him.” Jemma doesn’t turn, doesn’t look at her. She sounds like she’s trying to will the universe to rewrite their story.

 

“It was his face,” Daisy says. “His hands. HIs voice.” 

 

“It’s not his fault.” 

 

“Doesn’t matter. Trauma’s trauma.” 

 

“I’m not traumatized,” she spits out fiercely, even as her whole frame trembles uncontrollably. 

 

“Either way. He’ll understand. It’s not about him, it’s about you, Jemma. What you need.” 

 

She stays quiet and Daisy watches her, holding onto her with her gaze. 

 

“I already miss him,” she says finally, and this time she turns, this time she reaches blindly for Daisy in the night and Daisy scrambles to her side at once. “I miss him  _ so much _ .” 

 

Every word is an ache, and Daisy feels it deep in the pit of her stomach. All she can do is hold on, press her cheek to the top of Jemma’s head, and hold on tighter. 

 

When they finally get back in the van, Daisy wedges herself in the middle, her back against Fitz’s. A buffer she wishes she didn’t have to be but will be nonetheless for as long as she needs to. Jemma curls up in the space on her other side, scrunched up tight so that if her eyes flutter open, she won’t be able to see anything but the underside of the blanket or the fabric of Daisy’s jacket. 

  
Daisy can feel booth their heartbeats. Or at least, the virtual approximation. The rise and fall of each of their breathes on either side of her. And she hopes it isn’t long they have to stay like this. 


End file.
